


Broken Soles

by Sanshal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanshal/pseuds/Sanshal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home...</p><p>[Rating- PG, Gen.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Soles

** Broken soles **

** **

  
  
John woke up in degrees, feeling the questionable softness of the scratchy sheets and the light flooding the room from the windows that was obvious even with his eyes closed. He could hear the muted sound of the TV playing somewhere in the house and the periodic turning of pages and he relaxed; enjoying the brief spell of domesticity. Eventually it was five more minutes before he stepped out of the room.

Sammy, as expected; was bent over a book at the dining table while Dean sat on the couch carefully repairing the heel of his boot.

_Wait; what??? Didn’t he give the boy money just yesterday to buy the stuff they needed?_

“Mornin’, Dad. Coffee’s on the counter,” His eldest greeted.

John nodded, swiping a cup of the hot brew for himself as he went to sit next to his eldest. Dean obediently switched off the TV and turned to him askance.

John’s heart clenched briefly at how his children just expected him to ‘order’ them and even though Dean had never complained or protested the treatment; the fact that he didn’t expect anything else hurt something inside John. _Mary would have been furious with him had she known..._

He offered an awkward smile and sat back, hoping to convey what he couldn’t put in words and Dean took his cue; returning his attention to the shoe he was repairing.

“Money not enough for a new pair?” He managed to ask as casually as he was able.

“Sam needed a book for his class,” Dean offered as an excuse and John felt his heart shatter at the knowledge that he hadn’t- _that he couldn’t-_ provide enough for his kids to be able to afford a book AND a shoe. He wondered if his boys inwardly resented himself for it, but judging from Dean’s serene expression such hardships were barely more than a blip on his radar.

And no wonder; Dean was seventeen, but he had already taken on the responsibility of someone much older with the way he handled their finances and was virtually raising Sammy. Sure, he was around but the onus was- _and had been for years now-_ on Dean.

He took a closer look at the shoe and realized that it had to be at least one size too small for his boy.   
“Does it still fit you?” He asked, wanting to see how he responded.

“It’s a little tight,” Dean admitted with a shrug.

_‘Little tight’, right; and the Impala was a toy-car._

He shook his head at this fresh evidence of his kid’s big heart; sure, he had wanted Dean to take care of Sammy, but he hadn’t expected the boy to take his ‘job’ to this extent either. He wondered if Sam even realized how lucky he was- _they were-_ to have Dean.

“You should put yourself first sometimes, Kiddo; walkin’ in them boots can affect your growth,” He told the boy; proud that he was able to maintain a steady tone.

Dean glanced at him sharply at that; gaze searching his eyes for something though John couldn’t imagine what.

“Sammy, why don’t you go grab us some grub from Funky Town?” Dean called.

John frowned at the abrupt change in topic and at the way Sam’s head jerked up at Dean’s words. However, to his surprise; his youngest didn’t argue like he had been prone to over the last few months and simply nodded.

Busy watching Sam, he didn’t notice Dean moving; and ended up spluttering in disbelief when his oldest splashed him with what he assumed was holy-water (given the accompanying yell of ‘Christo’). He was still spitting out the few droplets he’d swallowed when a sharp bite of pain across his forearm had him reacting defensively on instinct; and feeling proud of his boy’s swift reflexes when Dean neatly evaded the move. It was only the release of the safety catch from his glock ( _and wasn’t that just the icing on the cake- having his own gun pointed at him?)_ that had him understanding the seriousness of the situation, “Dean? Son?”

“I’m not your son, you bastard!”Dean growled out, the gun in his hand never wavering, “So you’re not a ‘shifter and not a demon. What are you?”

Confusion had him frowning, “I’m your father,”

Dean snorted, the glock still frighteningly steady in his hand, “Nice try; quoting Star Wars,”

John cocked his head, deceptively casual as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees, “What makes you think I’m not?” And before Dean could respond, John was up and disarming the kid before someone got seriously injured, twisting the boy’s hand behind his back in a painful hold to make him cease struggling.

Dean growled and spit expletives till he realized that he was only injuring himself with his moves and then went still. “What do you want?”

John bit back his smile at the knowledge that even the threat of breaking his arm wasn’t enough to force his son into compliance and the fact that the boy had had the foresight to send his brother out to summon back-up.

“Where did you send Sammy?”

“Go to hell!”

He twisted Dean’s arm further, regretting the pain he was causing the boy but happy to have this chance at an impromptu training session. “Last chance, Son. Where did you send Sam?”

Green eyes glittered with suppressed rage as his boy twisted in his hold to glance at him. John made the mistake of loosening his grip slightly, assuming Dean would try to head-butt him and was taken aback at the face full of spit he got instead; hand instinctively coming up to wipe the saliva of his face. He regretted the action a second later when Dean jerked out of his hold and kicked at his knee before rounding on him again. It was pure luck that allowed John to grab the teenager before he could retrieve the gun he’d tossed to the side.

Dean struggled like a wildcat and John was forced to tighten his grasp to stop the flailing limbs from injuring either one of them. “ _Calm. Down_.”

Dean froze at the tone.

“It’s me, I promise.” John reiterated, “ _Christo_. ... see? Not a demon.”

Dean nodded haltingly.

“Am I going to get punched if I release you?”

A reluctant head shake.

“Good boy,”  
And John released him, holding his breath to see whether Dean kept his word. But if there was one thing he could always count on, it was his son’s determination to keep his family safe, and he knew Dean wouldn’t risk hurting him on the off-chance it really was him.

True to prediction, Dean slithered out of his hold to move out of his arm’s range the moment he released him but didn’t fight him. John raised his hands- palm outwards- in a placating manner. “It’s me, son. Do you believe me?”

Green eyes glimmered with mistrust, but the boy didn’t attack; instead he offered the flask of holy-water to him, “Drink.”

John nodded his acceptance, complying without complaint because you could never be too careful in their line of work. It was only once he was satisfied that John had swallowed that his oldest relaxed, the tension bleeding from his shoulders like it had never been there.

“Dad?”

“It’s me.” He confirmed, accepting the stilted embrace and trying not to notice Dean’s wince as he moved his right arm.

“So, who do I need to call and inform that they’re not actually needed?”

Dean blinked in confusion, “Huh?”

John narrowed his eyes, “You didn’t send Sammy to get back-up?”

His oldest hunched in on himself like he had committed some grave offence, “No, Sir.”

He nodded- _so capable now but God, his boy was still so achingly young!-_ “What was the plan, then?”

“Sir?”

“The plan?” John prodded.

“To keep Sammy safe,”

John swallowed down the bile that rose as understanding hit that his son had offered himself up as a distraction/bait/sacrifice in order to keep the perceived threat from his younger brother. His voice was gruff as he managed a ‘ _Good job, son’-_ barely succeeding in hiding his tears when the seventeen-year old blushed at the praise as though risking his life was nothing to be proud about.

“Let’s go grab a bite, shall we?”

Dean gave a stilted nod as though he still couldn’t believe John had praised him.

“I’m assuming you know where Sammy is?”

“Yeah,” A tiny grin appeared at the mention of his brother and John found himself hoping that his sons never lost this closeness.

 

 

Sam glanced between the two older Winchesters suspiciously and John knew he would be quizzing Dean about it later but joined them amiably enough at the mention of burgers. He allowed his boys to enter the restaurant ahead of himself and suppressed a smile when both teenagers instinctively scoped the place the moment they entered and he knew they would be able to name all the exits and that they had chosen the table that offered them the best vantage point. They piled into the bench seat next to one another leaving the couch opposite for John.

“So,” John broke the silence, glancing briefly at the menu, “What’s good in this place?”

He watched the boys hesitate briefly and Dean take a quick look around to see what the other patrons were eating before meeting his gaze, “Burgers?”

It had been a swift check; and anybody else would have missed it, but John knew better. He only found himself questioning the _‘why’_ behind it: _hadn’t his boys been eating here while he was away???_

Rather than voice his doubts though, John decided to play along, “Sure,”

Order placed, he questioned the boys on what had been happening and they filled him in, ribbing each other lightly as they spoke and John relaxed in the casual atmosphere. Conversation was forgotten once the food arrived though and he found his stomach rumbling its approval as the aroma of cheese and bacon wafted up from his plate. His eyes closed of their own volition as he savoured that first bite after days of surviving on the stale day-old sandwiches from Gas and Sip- _God, but this burger was good!_

He opened his eyes and he saw his youngest practically inhaling the food. He grinned, “Good?”

Sam shrugged, “I guess,”

John snorted, “You guess,”

His youngest’s eyes flashed defensively, “It’s not as good as Dean’s; but considering it’s a diner? Yeah I _guess_ it’s good.”

John didn’t know which part of that statement bothered him more. In the end he decided to ask the obvious, “Dean _cooks?”_

The tips of his eldest’s ears flushed a dull red as he blushed and it was only then that John noticed that instead of gobbling his burger the way Sam and he had done, Dean had been taking measured bites; chewing carefully and eating slowly.

“You okay, son?” Worry spiked instantly- it wasn’t like Dean to push food around on his plate.

“Yes, Sir.” Dean answered at the same time that Sam’s stomach rumbled loud enough for it draw all their attention, the boy blushing a bright red in embarrassment.

“Still hungry?” Dean asked softly enough that John only knew what he’d said by lip-reading.

The younger boy shrugged lightly.

“Here,” Dean pushed his half-eaten burger towards his brother, “I swear you’ve got hollow legs, dude!”

And John abruptly lost his appetite- _neither of his boys had even considered asking him for more_. He took a closer look at the two and noticed how _lean_ they had grown.

Dean had shot up a couple of inches and the boy was just beginning to grow into his height, but he was still so _slender_... a boy still. And Sammy... Sam had grown too, was nearing his brother’s height already even though he was four years his junior. Neither had a starved look but both could do with some fattening up.

“Finish your food, Dean,” John told him and hid his wince as he realized how harsh his tone had sounded.

Obviously his boy took it as the reprimand it wasn’t: “I’m full, Dad,”

“Dad’s right, Dean. You _should_ eat,” Sam put in and John watched in amusement as the older brother snapped a low _‘Shut it, Sam’._

“Sammy needs to eat, Sir,” He told John earnestly.

John nodded, torn between pride and sorrow at the understanding that his younger brother’s welfare was never far from Dean’s mind... But w _ho watched out for Dean?_

He smiled in satisfaction as both boys looked flabbergasted when John put in a second order for more burgers for all three of them and a side of fries. “Happy now?”

Dean’s smile could have powered a small town with its brightness and John felt a pang of regret as his oldest _finally_ started tucking in on the food like he should have all along.

“Now... what’s this I hear about you cooking, Dean-o?”

“It’s cheaper than eating out every day,” Dean admitted and John wondered at the defensiveness he saw flare in those green eyes.

“And healthier,” He agreed, hoping to convey that he wasn’t angry or think less of his son because he knew how to cook.

“Tastier too,” Sam mumbled from behind his burger and yelped when Dean elbowed him.

“Guess you’ll have to treat me to your cooking sometime so that I can be the judge of that,”

Dean nodded, “I could do something tonight... unless you’re leaving already?”

“No, tonight sounds good. What’re you planning to cook?”

“Pasta with meatballs sound good?”

“Perfect. We need to pick up anything for it?”

“A few things,” Dean nodded, “I can come back later for them though,”

“Nah, we can pick ‘em up on the way back itself. It’s cool.”

 

 

 

“Damn, this is good,” John found himself admitting later that day as he sampled his oldest’s culinary skills for the first time, “Where’d you learn to cook like this, Dean-o?”

Dean’s ears turned a dull red at the praise, “Home Economics,”

John sobered, “I thought you were in Workshop?”

_His boy was so good with his hands, why hadn’t he opted for the easier option?_

“I saw they taught basic culinary skills and a few other things in Home Ec at this school. Figured it would be good for Sammy to have home-cooked meals every once in awhile. Besides I can always switch when we transfer.”

John took in the way Sam’s eyes moved away as Dean answered, _apparently Sammy had known._

“What else did you learn?” He asked, heart clenching at the knowledge that his oldest had chosen a subject to be a better provider for Sammy. He wondered what it said about him that he was _grateful_ for Dean’s devotion to his baby brother and remembering how he had _encouraged_ such behaviour.

“In Home Ec?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“Um hmm,” John wished he was open enough with his sons to ask whether he’d been teased at school for his choice... _because Home ec was definitely not what complimented Dean’s macho-male image._ Though to be honest, he supposed no one would have even guessed _why_ his son had chosen it.

“Needle work,” Sam answered before Dean.

John nodded, noticing the tiny - _neat_ \- barely discernible stitches at Sam’s shoulder and pocket; realizing for the first time that for boys who were shooting up almost an inch a day, he hadn’t had to buy clothes as often as he probably should have. He jerked his chin towards Sammy’s shirt, “Your work?”

Dean nodded silently.

Sam glared daggers at him, apparently expecting him to ridicule Dean’s efforts and looked suitably chastised when he said ‘ _good job_ ’ instead.

Not for the first time John found himself questioning what he would’ve done without Dean. Dean who was the peacemaker of their little unit; who ‘ _did what they did and shut up about it’_ without expecting a word of acknowledgement or thanks in return. Who was the only reason he was still sane and Sammy still as innocent as he was.

Maybe he placed too much responsibility on those slender shoulders. Maybe he expected too much... but his boy was yet to let him down even once.

Dean automatically rose to gather the dishes once they were all done and John grabbed his wrist to halt him. “The one who doesn’t cook does the dishes, boy; your mom’s rule.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up in surprise at that; it was so rare for him to even _mention_ Mary that neither of his boys had outgrown being awed into silence at even the casual-est reference to her. So which at any other time might have resulted in a snarky retort was a simple _‘really?’_ this time around.

“Yup,” John grinned as he stood, “Sammy, you wanna dry or wash?”

“But- but I helped Dean!” His youngest protested even as he got to his feet.

John ruffled his brown curls as they moved to the kitchen, catching Dean staring after them for a long moment before he moved to the couch. They were such great kids, John thought to himself, he really ought to begin appreciating them more.

“Hey, Dean?” He called,

“Yeah, Dad?” His oldest was at the door in the blink of an eye.

He tossed him his wallet, “Get yourself new shoes tomorrow,”

 

  
∞∞  ^ * ^ ∞∞   
The End. 


End file.
